


One Size Fits All

by sangueuk



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 09:03:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangueuk/pseuds/sangueuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary</b>: Chris tries to persuade Karl that the <i>only</i> thing to wear with a dinner jacket is a traditional bow-tie.</p><p>Intriguing snippet:  <i>“If you don’t wear a proper bow-tie, I’m not going to watch it on TV,” Chris pouts. “You’re a star now – you gotta have some standards?”</i></p><p> </p><p><b>Warning</b>:   Chris acting like a princess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Size Fits All

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday gift for abigail89!
> 
> Thanks to weepingnaid for beta reading!

**One Size Fits All**

 

“Jesus, you’re the most stubborn SOB I’ve _ever_ met!”

Karl’s response is a chuckle into Chris’ shoulder. He pulls back from their heated embrace, smirks and nibbles his way back up Chris’ throat. His hands are hot and strong, keeping him still. Chris shudders a little, tries to ignore how his voice came out a squeak, concentrating instead on the feel of Karl’s insistent tongue and teeth against his neck, his Adam’s apple, the push of groin against groin.

“Can’t hear you,” Karl says eventually.

“And,” Chris mutters into the top of Karl’s head, “don’t give me that elders and betters BS – you’re only five years older than me, it’s…” the rest of the sentence ends up… somewhere… maybe it’s gone into an alternate universe, a place where _he’s_ the one calling the shots, not Karl. And what the fuck, he’s starting to sound like Doctor Karl Geek now; a function of too much prolonged exposure to the Kiwi bastard. Maybe not _enough_ , runs through his mind. Meanwhile, Karl’s on his knees, Chris’ really _valid_ point’s being sucked out of his dick – how’s he even got a chance of talking Karl round, when he’s ‘putting up with’ brutal suction from that dirty, filthy mouth?

“Not fair?” Karl offers. He releases Chris and stands up elegantly. “Now, put that thing away,” he squeezes Chris’ cock, his voice calm, which sets little fires the length of Chris’ body. “I’ve got to finish getting ready—”

Chris shoves him against the mirror, ignores his own reflection, tries not to notice how pink his cheeks are, and leans his forehead into Karl’s chest, his hands still gripping his hips. “There are some things,” he takes a deep breath to control the tremble in his voice, “ _I_ know more about -- just accept it.”

If his argument’s going to have any weight, he’ll have to take a rain-check on the sex, so he lets go of Karl, tucks himself back in his jogging pants with a wince, steps away and folds his arms. There. Totally in control. He scans Karl, from his shiny, shiny shoes to the top of his perfect hair.

Jesus Christ he looks good enough to eat. He’s wearing a dress shirt, buttons undone to the waist (Chris’ handiwork, of course), dress pants, no tie as yet and - A Look – amused, Alpha, like Karl can stop this anytime he likes. Yeah, right. His lips are shiny with Chris’ pre-come and his jaws covered in saliva – he should look a mess but instead he’s darkest sin personified, beautiful.

“If you don’t wear a proper bow-tie, I’m not going to watch it on TV,” Chris pouts. “You’re a star now – you gotta have some standards?”

Karl shakes his head. “ _You’re_ the star, Chris; me? I’m just a jobbing actor. I can’t pull off old Hollywood.” He air-quotes and his eyes crinkle.

“You’ve got to keep up with the kids…” Chris shifts a little, attempting to distribute the weight in a vain attempt to prevent his dick from rubbing against his jogging pants.

“Well, not exactly, but a straight tie’ll do the job. Also, what if I do agree and wear this stupid thing?” Karl reaches down to the floor where the Paul Smith bow tie Chris offered him earlier fell in their tussle, long, tan fingers smoothing the silk. He closes the gap between them. “Only thing this is good for is tying your wrists together,” he breathes into Chris’ ear, all heat and expensive cologne, “ _if_ there was time to teach you a lesson.”

Fuck. Chris feels another twist of fire in his belly, wonders when the hell he’s going to win one of their good-natured arguments. The thing about the tie and the wrists almost has him wishing never. “So you’re saying I looked like an asshole at the Oscars?” It comes out crankier than he intended – he just wants Karl to look the part, and yeah – have something of _his_ at the premiere.

“I didn’t say that. I said you’re the star, remember?” Karl presses the cloth into Chris’ hand, closes his fingers for him around it, and kisses his nose. “You’ve got that old school thing going on; you look like _someone_ even when you’re getting coffee - when I’m not posing or prettied up, when I’m out of character, I just look like a dork.”

Chris frowns. Karl’s never struck him as someone who has self-esteem issues but, when he thinks about it, some of the movies he gets involved in, his resume _does_ have a straight-to-DVD feel about it.

“Lord of the Rings,” Chris says, like it’s the final word in a thesis entitled ‘You are Hot and Important’.

Karl smiles indulgently, presses a kiss to his chin. “Hey, don’t get me wrong. I’m happy enough where I am – pays the mortgage.”

“You still have a mortgage?” Chris’ hands inch up Karl’s back to his neck, twist in the short hairs.

“As your smart buddies would say – metaphorically, yes I do.”

They stare at each other in silence for a few long seconds.

“Let me show you,” Chris whispers, _how beautiful you are_ , he wants to add but, he’s _listened_ to all the advice Zach’s given him, despite his eye rolls and refusing to look up from the cross-word when Zach’s in full yenta mode: _”Don’t act like a woman, Pine, or he’ll treat you like his, ‘piece on the side”._ While Zach’s approximation of a Kiwi accent was very Dick Van Dyke, the bastard had a point.

His friend’s convinced Chris is Karl’s:

 _“first foray into peen, so go easy on the interior design tips, and don’t fucking style him. Those antipodean’s, they’re harder than a hillbilly sitting next to his sister – learn to like rugby and hide your moisturizer when he comes over.”_

 _“Okay – he’s a hard man, I got it, Jeez…”_

“Show me what? Are we being filmed by Candid Makeover?” Karl grins.

“That’s a program?” Chris cocks his head, narrows his eyes.

“No it isn’t, wanker,” Karl says fondly.

Well, Jesus, it totally _should be_. Chris would be all over that.

“Oh.”

“Now you’re pissed off with me.” Karl tugs him back so their bodies are flush again.

“I’m not -- it’s fine.”

“Alright, tie the sodding dickie-bow, but what if it comes loose? How am I going to fix it without you there?” Karl leans back on the mirror, his shirt falling open some more, revealing _acres_ of smooth, bronze skin. Chris huffs out an irritable breath.

“You can phone me. I’ll talk you down.”

“Look, Charlton Heston, it’d be hard enough fiddling about with the two ends without having to worry about holding the phone – I’ll drop it down the loo or something!”

“You don’t have to phone me from the john, Karl, you can…” Actually, he can’t. Chris swallows, drops his gaze from Karl’s face, and stretches out the bow tie. He examines the sizing guide at the back of his beloved tie. “What size are you?”

“16.” Karl’s voice drops, acquiesces.

“Right, I’m going to take this nice and slow -- it’s easy.” Chris steps between Karl’s feet, lifts up Karl’s collar and pulls the tie around his neck, trying to ignore the way Karl’s eyes are boring into his temple. “First up, leave the tie a little longer on one side, I know you hang to the right,” he winks and Karl responds with one of his assassin looks - shit. “So we’ll go this way first, okay? It’ll help you remember.”

“I’m not going to be able to remember _any_ of this if you keep distracting me—”

Honestly, the tone of that voice, Chris has to marvel that he’s able to concentrate at all. “Nah, it’s cool – association is how the memory works.”

“That’ll explain why I’m thinking about your dick all the time, Pine!”

Chris bats Karl’s hand away from his fly and takes a deep breath. ”Now you cross the tie over, bring one side up, back up through the ‘v’ then cinch it tight,” he parts his lips, squints as he concentrates, thinks how to explain the next part. He glances at Karl whose eyes are smoldering. “Stop it.”

“Stop _what_?” Karl arches an eyebrow.

“Just stop, okay, I’m trying to focus.”

Karl grinds his knee under Chris’ balls and cants his head to contemplate him. “Your cheeks are pink.”

“Shut. Up.”

Karl grins. “Carry on… what next?”

“Then you take the longer end, fold it back on itself into a half bow.” Karl increases the pressure with his knee, slides his hands up Chris’ sides. Chris blinks, finds some strength from somewhere because this is important, dammit. “Now here’s the tricky part - tease it forward, find the hole behind it and push the other side through the hole. There you have the other side of the bow.” Karl blows on Chris’ face and Chris shoots him a look, tries not to fall into those dark, infernal eyes and he licks his lips, looks down at his handiwork so far. “Then you have to let go – you even listening, Karl?”

“Oh yeah, every word.” Karl’s staring at his mouth again and Chris forces his gaze back to the tie, adjusts its width. “Then you take a good look and adjust the bow. When you’re happy, put the collar down and there you have it. Easy, see?”

Karl’s silent, holds Chris’ gaze. Chris is panting slightly. He watches as Karl turns side on to look at his reflection. “Very nice,” he says, nodding, glancing down at his wrist to check his watch. He walks to the edge of the bed. “Now come here.”

Karl should look ridiculous – his shirt’s still half unbuttoned, the tie’s slipped already (well, it’s harder tying it on someone else, all the wrong way round to how Chris is used to in the mirror) and Chris feels his legs tremble a little as he closes the short distance between them.

“You’ll muss up your clothes –”

“If I do, I’ve got more in my room. It’s just a suit.”

“It’s a fucking _Armani_ , Karl!”

“Chris, get that tight arse of yours over here…”

It’s not fair. If Karl could do _this_ with his voice in front of the camera, if they just let him be Kiwi. Fuck - well, goodbye ‘roles-we-don’t-mention’, and hello 007.

He stretches out for Karl, watches sure fingers lower his sweatpants and leave them mid thigh - _he totally could be a leading man_ \- Karl could be anything he wants to be. But then, that’s precisely what Karl does; he plays roles he _does_ want, conducts his professional life like a kid making a list for Santa - _Judge Dredd, please sir, I’ve been a good boy_.

“What the hell are you grinning at now, Chris?”

“Just thinking about Santa Claus,” Chris explains sheepishly, hips bucking into Karl’s mouth when he deep-throats him. “‘snot important, _ung_ …” The feel of those warm spit-covered fingers working into his ass, the sounds coming out of Karl’s throat are bone melting and Chris chokes out a desperate, “Don’t! _Stop!_ I…” but it’s too late, he’s coming hard and his fingers are in Karl’s hair, and he totally meant to hold back.

He slumps forward, hands on Karl’s shoulders, legs wobbly, watching Karl’s head on his thigh, how he’s still lapping at him, rolling his balls firmly with his other hand. Chris winces when Karl pulls his fingers free. His cock’s too damn sensitive though he knows Karl won’t stop tickling the tip with his tongue, enjoys torturing Chris like this.

Then he hears an alert on Karl’s phone, knows what it means. Neither of them move.

The alert goes off once more and their kissing’s interrupted by Karl huffing to his feet, erection bobbing as he walks, till he tucks himself into his boxer briefs, and zips up his suit pants. He looks at the screen, frowns and slips it into his pocket.

“I gotta go, car’ll be here in a quarter of an hour, sorry.”

“What about…?” Chris waves a heavy arm towards Karl, unable to move from his slump at the foot of the bed, his sweat pants bunched at his ankles.

He hears the rustle of silk lining as Karl slips his jacket on, buttons up his shirt and tucks it in. “It’s okay, it’ll give me a reason to get back to you quicker.” He smoothes his hair, adjusts the bow-tie in the mirror winking at Chris via his reflection.

“I’m off. I’ll see you later maybe?” Like he has to ask…

Chris manages to struggle up onto an elbow and contemplates the image before him. Karl’s pristine, pressed, sleek and composed, not a hair out of place, and there’s no clue where his mouth’s just been, how he’s just turned Chris inside out. The lines round Karl’s eyes deepen when he smolders unselfconsciously. Chris is slightly in awe of how Karl seems to be able to turn it on like that. Chris is so many threadbare hotel towels in comparison. He remembers to close his mouth so he doesn’t look any more ridiculous.

“Don’t touch the tie, I won’t be there to fix it,” Chris says, his voice an impotent huff now he’s all satiated and boneless.

“Like I said, Chris,” Karl says, advancing towards him, no _gliding_ – “I’ll be fine.” He takes Chris’ slack wrist and guides his palm to where Karl’s still half hard. “I’ll try and think pure thoughts for the next few hours, though, to be honest…” and he leans down gracefully and plants a kiss on Chris’ forehead, “might be a bit tricky the way you look now.” His tongue sweeps across and in and Chris feels another annoying stir deep in his balls and moans defenselessly.

“I meant your tie, Urban.”

“Oh, that?” Karl saunters to the door, looks over his shoulder, “I’ll do my best but don’t hold it against me if it comes undone, alright?”

Chris is _totally_ going to hold it against him and he grins, rubs an eye and then slumps back onto the bed when the door clicks shut. He really should take a shower. Just as soon as his legs work again.

Later, Chris is watching the premiere and it seems like an age before he even catches a glimpse of Karl on screen. The first shot is head and shoulders from behind, so he can’t tell if his masterpiece is still intact. Then, when Karl turns and Chris sees the _regular_ black tie, Chris grabs his phone and sends a text.

 _Fucker_ , he texts.

Chris tosses his cell on the empty pillow beside him, removes his glasses, and cranes round to examine the head-board. Hmm… come to think of it, maybe Karl’s regular tie’s going to prove more versatile than he’d thought.

END


End file.
